


A Game of Two Broomsticks

by slashedsilver



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Hogwarts Era, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, teeth-rotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashedsilver/pseuds/slashedsilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since the new term began, Draco has been heading to the Quidditch pitch every morning, putting in extra practice so that he can finally beat Potter. This morning, it seems that another person has the same idea in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Game of Two Broomsticks

**Author's Note:**

> Set in Hogwarts era, because I've been feeling nostalgic, in the headspace somewhere pre-OoTP, when everyone was writing first time, coming together H/D fic. Complete with Quidditch cliches. 
> 
> Written for the Welcome Back to Hogwarts challenge at hd_writers: Assignment #15, A fic set in one of a list of locations (Quidditch Pitch).
> 
> This now comes with [an absolutely gorgeous piece of art](http://hh-sugarquill.livejournal.com/1723805.html#cutid2) by erzsebet!

It was barely dawn when Draco hefted his broomstick onto his shoulder, and headed down to the Quidditch pitch.

The castle was quiet, still deep in its slumber. Outside, the birds and beasts of the grounds and the forest surrounding Hogwarts began to stir. No one noticed the blond figure, trundling down the castle steps with a broomstick on his shoulder and determination on his face.

At the pitch, Draco set down his broom and limbered up, preparing to fly. He liked this time of the morning, when the air was crisp and the whole world felt like it was holding its breath, just waiting for him to burst into the sky. He liked that no one else was there to see him, to judge him for his Quidditch skills, to sneer at him for working so hard, or to laugh at him for continually failing to beat Potter to the Snitch. (Draco refused to entertain the thought that Potter might be the reason why he was dragging himself up every morning.)

Shaking his legs out, Draco mounted his broom -- and soared. He started slow, with simple laps back and forth, before he twisted into more adventurous loops and angles. _Too controlled_ , he thought critically, as he pulled out of a dive. That was why he always lost to Potter -- not because of technique (Draco's form was trained out of years of strict Quidditch training), but because of the sheer daring and instinct that Potter flew with, as though he were born on a broom...

By the time the first few rays of the morning began to peek over the horizon, Draco had worked up a good sweat, trying out new feints and moves that he could possibly use in the upcoming matches. As he was about to launch into a Sloth Grip Roll, he suddenly caught sight of a small figure heading out onto the pitch. 

Draco paused on his broom and squinted at the figure. Who could that be? The sight made him simultaneously annoyed and invaded upon; up until that moment, the pitch had been Draco's very own private space, and he felt compelled to guard it by all means necessary. 

The figure didn't bother to stretch or warm up, just mounted its broom and took off at an alarming speed. It swung into a few familiar twists, then came to a sudden halt right in front of Draco, easily maintaining a steady hover.

Something hot curled into Draco's stomach as he recognised the figure. "Potter."

"Malfoy," the other boy acknowledged, never taking his eyes off him. "You're up early."

Draco bristled, uncertain whether to take it as a compliment or an insult. "As I have been every single day now," he snapped.

He winced slightly at the belligerence in his voice, but damn it, he felt protective over the pitch. It was _his_ time to use it, away from his Slytherin teammates who would tease him for waking up earlier just to practice, away from his classmates and schoolmates who judged him for who he was, away even from Potter himself, whose carefree nature and easy smiles were getting to be too much for his heart to handle. In his head, a memory of Flint's voice echoed. "Didn't know you wanted Potter's attention so badly," he used to say, smirking. _Badly enough to work for it, in the way a Malfoy never works,_ went unspoken. Draco never rose to the bait. Flint could not be allowed to know how close he was to the mark. Draco never even dared to admit it to himself, too afraid that if he dwelt on it, it would start to sprout wings and bloom and grow until he could no longer contain it.

Like now, when he was already unable to hold Potter's gaze for too long.

"I know that," Potter said simply, and Draco's attention snapped back to him. "I know you've been coming here a lot. Your flying's really good now."

"What exactly do you mean by that?" he snarled, certain that Potter was insulting him. "Finally fit to share the sky with you?"

Potter's eyes twinkled with mischief. "That's not what I said. What I said," he emphasised, swinging his broom closer, "was that your flying's improved a lot. I've always liked watching you fly. But now it's more than just your gracefulness -- your skills have really improved."

Disarmed by the confession, Draco could only gape at Potter. What was he playing at here? Did he mean it? Draco silently took in his messy hair and his too-green eyes, warm with an unnamed emotion, and waited for the other shoe to fall. 

Potter obliged, running his eyes all over him, causing Draco to flush warm, hardly daring to breathe under the bold scrutiny. Potter inched even nearer. "You know what else's improved?" he said, dropping his voice. "Your body's improved a lot, too. I like watching you fly."

Draco's breath hitched, and he stared at Potter in disbelief. Was Potter _flirting_ with him? Or had he been fantasising about Potter for so long that he'd become unable to differentiate between dream and reality? Discreetly, Draco released one hand from his broom so that he could pinch himself hard. Was he actually still in bed?

"Hey, Malfoy," Potter said, regarding him seriously. "Don't take this the wrong way, but... I want to try something."

Potter moved his broom impossibly closer, and it was all Draco could do to keep his balance on his own broom, a confused mix of rapidly beating heartbeats and erratic breathing and -- oh Merlin, was Potter coming even nearer?

Their brooms level out, and then Potter was facing Draco, the front of their broomsticks overlapping with each other. There was a wild look of exhilaration in his eyes as he transferred his grip from his own broomstick to Draco's. 

Balancing on his broomstick for dear life, Draco wanted to hit him hard for trying something as dangerous as this in the air, but he didn't dare release his hands from his own broom. When he was relatively sure they weren't going to plummet down to the ground in a fatal Quidditch accident, Draco let out his breath in a shaky whoosh. "Merlin, Potter, only you would try something so reckless."

Potter's answer was a mischievous grin. "Wait till you see what I'm going to try next." 

Potter's gaze held his, which Draco was certain was communicating all kinds of terror and apprehension and _what in the world are you up to, Potter_ , or maybe just a _please, I don't want to die so young_. Whatever it was, Potter must see what he was looking for, because he smiled reassuringly, and then slowly leaned in, shifting his fingers inwards towards Draco's.

When Harry's fingers gently overlapped with his, Draco gripped the broomstick so tightly he was certain the outline would be imprinted on his palms for hours. Harry released one hand to tentatively trail up Draco's face, and Draco felt as though he might have an aneurysm. 

"Potter --" he began, not sure if he wanted to tell him to stop or encourage him to go on. He also wasn't sure if he really wanted to know the answer.

"Shh," Harry whispered, and his eyes were so, so green.

When Harry's lips touched his, soft and yielding, Draco's eyes fluttered closed. He firmly shut the corner of his mind frantically gibbering with doubts and what-ifs, and concentrated on living his fantasy, of Harry's mouth, warm and wet on his, their breaths mingling, and the exhilarating feeling of snogging while hovering fifty feet above the Quidditch pitch. It was better than he had ever dared to hope or imagine.

Their joined broomsticks made a particularly big wobble, though whether it was Harry's fault or Draco's, he had no idea. All he knew that when they pulled out of the kiss, mouths reddened and cheeks flushed, Draco was incoherent. The only feeling that remained was the all-encompassing desire to run his fingers through Harry's hair, and tug him in for a second kiss.

Harry was watching him carefully, as though waiting for Draco's reaction. "So... That was okay, then?"

Draco's brow furrowed. Was Harry asking about the kiss? _I want to try something,_ Harry had said. Abruptly, Draco's heart sank as he remembered the events that had led up to the kiss. Why should he have assumed that Harry was giving him the license to realise his most secret dreams? And what had _ever_ possessed him to believe that Harry could have possibly felt the same about him?

"You said you wanted to try something," he said aloud. He lifted his chin, hoping that his hurt was buried deeply enough. "And yes, Potter, you've successfully proven that it's possible for two people to snog in mid-air. Your experiment was a resounding success. Now go and find someone else to make fun of." Belatedly, he realised that he had been unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. 

Harry looked alarmed as Draco gave his broom a vicious jerk out of his grasp. He refused to meet Harry's eyes. "No -- Draco... That's not what I meant -- "

But Draco was unhearing, intent only on escaping Harry's mocking gaze. His broom gives a shudder as it was ripped out of Harry's hands -- and Draco was free, speeding away from his humiliation and his crushed dreams, turning back only when he was far away enough --

Only to see Harry in the middle of a plummet. He had most likely overbalanced when Draco had abruptly snapped his broomstick away. Draco didn't think, just swung his broomstick into a dive, frantically trying to reach Harry before he hit the ground.

At the last moment, he remembered that he had his wand with him, and he whipped it out, nearly losing his balance completely, but in the panic of the moment, he didn't care. He threw a Levitation charm at Harry, and a cushioning charm at the ground, desperately hoping that that would be enough to stay his fall. Draco very nearly avoided crashing headlong into a tree, swerving out of the way at the last second. As soon as he could, he craned his head back to check on Potter.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Harry land, apparently unharmed. It was too late for Harry's broom though, which snapped neatly in two as it hit the ground. Draco put his broomstick into a dive, landing near where Harry was lying on his back, winded, having survived yet another near-death experience. _Honestly!_

Draco flung his broom aside and stormed over to Harry, who was struggling into an upright position. Draco was already ranting as he approached Harry. "Just what did you think you were accomplishing with all those -- those crazy stunts? You could have died! Which would have made me, I don't know, The Boy Who Killed The Boy Who Lived or something! I know you're very proud of your cockroach-level survival skills, but honestly -- "

"You're limping," Harry said with concern.

It was only after he mentioned it that Draco realised he was indeed favouring his right ankle. Strange. He must have landed too hard.

Harry extended his fingertips towards Draco's ankle, then paused. "May I?"

With Harry in such close proximity to him again, Draco suddenly felt as shaky as he did when he was in the air. "Go ahead," he said, hoping his voice didn't tremble.

Harry's fingers ran gently over Draco's ankle, looking for the area of swelling. Draco hissed when they touched an especially sore part, and Harry made an apologetic noise, looking up at Draco through his eyelashes. Draco had to use all his power to control the flare of lust, and forced himself to look away.

Harry pulled out his wand and healed the tender spot, but his other hand still rested, warm and protective, on Draco's leg. Draco shifted his foot uncomfortably as the moment lengthened, but Harry's grip tightened in response.

"No, don't go. Sit here with me. Please." Harry seemed to sense Draco's hesitation, and added, "Please. Just for a little while."

Because Draco was clearly a closet masochist, he allowed Harry to pull him down to sit beside him, shoulders warm where they were touching. Draco tried to work up the willpower to shift subtly away, but soon succumbed to the temptation of sitting so close to Harry, fingers almost touching, knees bumping together.

After a moment or two of sitting in silence, Draco was beginning to wonder if this was what Harry had in mind -- sitting on the Quidditch pitch as the morning dew steadily soaked through all their gear -- when Harry turned to him, pinning him with his gaze.

"That is one unfair advantage," Draco said faintly, barely even realising he'd said it out loud. He felt like he'd been pinned in place, unable to move under the force of Harry's stare.

"Draco," Harry said, ignoring his comment, and Draco shivered to hear his name on Harry's lips. "I needed you to know. It's not just an experiment. You said you'd been coming here every day since the start of term. Well -- " Harry took a deep breath. "I have too."

"What?" Draco blurted. "You've been coming here too? When? I've never -- "

Harry's mouth quirked up in a small smile. "Well, I hadn't intended for you to see me."

Draco's mind spun as he tried to process that. "Were you -- _spying_ on me?" He couldn't decide if he felt offended or flattered.

"If you haven't noticed, Malfoy, I've been trying to talk to you since Easter." Harry's face was brilliantly red now.

"Easter?" Draco repeated inanely. All the times Harry had initiated conversation in the library, in between lessons, running into him in the oddest of places -- Draco had thought that Harry had been trying to rile him up, and had responded in an accordingly antagonistic manner. Had he just been trying to talk to him? "You've been trying to talk to me?"

Harry huffed out a laugh. "Well, I had been. I'm not trying to talk to you now."

"You're not?" Draco wasn't sure how he felt about that. "No wonder we've just been sitting here for so long."

"No, Draco," Harry said patiently, "I'm now trying to kiss you."

"Ah," Draco said intelligently. "Well. I think I can work with that."

This time, Draco was the one to lean in and capture Harry's gut-wrenchingly soft lips with his own. Harry's mouth parted easily, and his arms lifted to bracket around Draco, pulling him towards him. Draco carefully licked his way into Harry's mouth, and Harry gave a gasp and a moan, responding with greater urgency and desperation. Harry's fingers slid into Draco's hair, parting the strands like silk. Draco felt something in him give way at the sensation.

Ten minutes later, they were panting heavily, half-sitting, half-lying on the Quidditch pitch. Harry's lips were swollen and debauched, and Draco lifted a hand to his own lips in curiosity, wondering if he looked the same.

"Your hair," Harry gasped, a half-strangled sound.

Draco tried to arrange his hair self-consciously. "Is it very messy?"

"It's probably closer to 'tempting'," Harry said, eyes dark. Draco's face grew hot, and he tried to change the subject. 

"Was there any reason for our first kiss -- " Draco stumbled over the words, "to be fifty feet off the ground?"

Harry smirked. "I just didn't want you to run away before I could try that."

"Didn't really work, did it?" Draco taunted. "If I recall correctly, I escaped just fine."

"Only _after_ we kissed," Harry pointed out.

"It's a good thing I came out here today. Imagine if I hadn't; who would have given you a decent challenge otherwise?"

"I'm sure I would have managed."

Draco scowled, imagining Harry 'managing' with someone else. "After going through all that trouble today, you'll just have to put up with me," he said, aiming for an air of nonchalance.

A small smile spread over Harry's face. "Is that so?"

_Yes. Because I'm not letting you go._

"Race you back to the castle," Draco said instead, reckless with giddiness.

Harry shot him a slow smile, and Draco's heart gave a hard thump. "You're on."


End file.
